Call Off Your Ghost
by IntraSule
Summary: Peter still lingers in the hospital, forever a five year old waiting for the friend that grew up.
1. Chapter 1

_The green line went flat on the screen, paired with an ear-piercing tone that cut through the air and hopes of the surgeons in the room. One surgeon read the time- 31, October, 2014, 4:02 PM- and a nurse documented the time read. _

_Someone had burst into the double doors, a small man, his violet eyes wild with rage and horror as tears fell down his cheeks. He tried to reach for him, for the small, bloodied body, but another man, a larger one who seemed so stoic about it all if it weren't for the tears in his blue eyes, ran after the smaller one and held him back. The smaller man, the one with the violet eyes, fought against his husband's hold, screaming obscenities and begging to be allowed near his son, until he couldn't fight anymore, and all he could do was sink to the floor and weep in his husband's large arms as the doctors switched off the electronics, took out the steel tools from the open chest, and pulled the white sheet over their patient's body, covering the lifeless blue eyes and pulling it over his dirt-blond hair._

What year was it? Peter wondered this as he sat perched on top of the nurse's desk, his chin resting in the palms of his tiny hands. It couldn't have been many years since he didn't grow much, but still...

He looked into the room of a little girl named Lilli Zwingli and watched as her older brother- Basch, Peter learned from overhearing their conversations- wrap a covering around her neck, the ones Peter used to wear whenever his Papa or Mum took him to get haircuts from the friendly old barber who gave him candy afterward. Basch then undid Lilli's pretty braids and combed it out before picking up a pair of scissors and cutting them up to her chin.

He turned his attention to another patient, a boy named Feliciano who coughed in between his laughs from his bouts of pneumonia as his mother and father and older brother tried to keep the life in the atmosphere. If Peter knew Feliciano, the boy was going on excitedly about the pretty nurses caring for him and keeping him company.

Both patients flared intense jealousy in Peter's young body. Not only do they get regular company from family- and nurses and special visits when Feliciano and Lilli ask while Peter couldn't even get one nurse's attention- but they were both _getting taller. _They were both sick and neither of them leave their beds for months on end, and they couldn't keep their food down for weeks sometimes, but they still got bigger and taller and Feliciano was even getting a little bit of muscle on him (albeit his arms still looked stick-thin), while Peter still was too short. And it stunk because Peter felt completely fine; he exercised, he stretched his limbs daily, and he'd eat his meals everyday and keep it down if he could eat.

The thought of not being able to eat brought in another wave of jealousy in the little boy's heart. All over the floor, the kids here got to eat tons of sweets that Peter loves, from the chocolate pudding cups with whipped topping on it to slices of chocolate and vanilla cakes with a lot of rainbow sprinkles on the frosting, ones that look like the cake Mum bakes for Christmas with Papa. Nothing about this was fair-!

Peter stopped himself, inhaled and closed his eyes. He was getting angry at others for getting things that were good, and the envy was making him sick. To take away the envy, Peter let his mind clear, and then he told himself in his head that it is not good to be jealous for what others have just because he couldn't have it, and that he should in fact be happy for them because they were lucky enough to get them while they were so sick. So he let go of the envy over their familial moments and the delicious-looking cakes and puddings and cupcakes, but the twinge of bitterness over still being tiny remained. Moving one hand from under his chin, Peter flexed his little arm, sighing in disappointment at the barely-there bump on his upper arm. He compared his arm to Feliciano's arms and even Lilli's arms until he got bored of seeing how small he was. He pushed himself off the nurse's desk and sped down the slippery hall of the hospital, past the rooms of other children who were sick or injured or simply there for check-ups and slowed down until he reached the room.

Room B180, the one Peter was assigned... how long ago before they gave his bed away to other, sicker kids? He stared at the glowing blue line on the wall next to B180's door. Hoping that however many years have passed was good on his height, Peter turned around and pressed his back against the wall. He flattened his hair on his head with one hand and used his finger to trace a line above him. He turned back around and looked at where his magic finger left another glowing mark. Darn, it was the same place like last month, like every darn year since he first came here. He pouted, looked from side to side at the crowd of patients and doctors with nurses and students at their side, and turned around again. Instead of pressing his back to the wall first, he closed his eyes and pushed his insides down and away. With the lighter weight, Peter felt his feet lift from the floor and his body getting higher up. He opened his eyes and leaned against the wall, tracing another line above his head for the month.

He descended and gazed up proudly at the line he drew higher on the wall with his hands on his hips. Well, even if he can't grow taller like the other kids, he could at least take pride in knowing that he learned a trick that the other kids can't do. _Mum would be so proud!_

"Okay, baby, now just put this strand through this loop..."

Peter blinked as the voice cut through his thoughts. Another voice spoke too, followed by bubbly laughter and some small claps and cheers. Peter raised an eyebrow and leaned until his head appeared in the doorway. Sitting on one of the room's beds- Peter's old bed, as a matter of fact- was a little girl that looked around Peter's age. She was tiny compared to her parents sitting in the chairs next to her bed, a papa with long golden hair that Uncle Den would have laughed at and some scruff under his chin, a mama whose skin was slightly darker than the little girl's skin and thick braids of hair was tied high behind her hair, and the girl herself, a girl who had dark brown hair in big, red bows on either side of her brown cheeks. Peter couldn't see what the little girl and her family were making from where he stood, but guessed from the baskets of yarn that maybe they were making a scarf or something. Whatever they were doing, Peter watched on in fascination. He placed the palms of his hand on the threshold and took a step inside the room.

"Am I finished yet, Mama?" The little girl asked. She held up a tiny patchwork that had a red flower in a yellow and white striped background.

"Not yet, baby," the lady chuckled. "You have to do that thirty more times before it's finished.

The little girl puffed her cheeks and lowered her work. "But that's going to take forever! I won't be able to finish it before winter comes..."

"Not with that attitude, you won't," the papa stated. He started to say something else, but someone cleared his throat. All of them looked towards the door, including Peter- who didn't realize that he was floating closer to the family and further away from the door itself- and a doctor stood there with his clipboard in his arm. The papa and mama glance at each other and smiled back at their daughter. "Michelle, we're going to talk to the nice doctor for a moment, do you think you'll be able to work on your scarf until we come back?"

The daughter, Michelle, nodded. "Mhm!"

"Okay, we'll be right back," the mama leaned closer to give Michelle a kiss on the forehead. The papa did the same and they both stood and walked out of the room, walking through Peter and closing the door behind them.

Peter glanced over his shoulder and looked back at the little girl on the bed, watching her fingers turn the needles in and out, up and down, make loops and close them until she made one row after the other of yellow and red and white in such a quick fashion that Peter's eyes couldn't keep up.

"That's a cool scarf," Peter commented, mostly to himself though, since no one can hear him-

"Huh! Oh, thanks!" Michelle grinned. She lifted her work-in-progress up to the light to examine it.

Peter let out a small gasped and looked up at the girl, who seemed to stare back right at him. He looked over his shoulder again, and all around the room. "Were you... talking to me?"

"Uh, yeah?" she replied with a quirk of her eyebrow and looked around the room with him. "Who else am I going to talk to?"

"Oh, sorry, I just..." Peter looked down at his fingers as he twiddled them. "Uh, I never really had a girl talk to me before..." _Or anyone, really, _he wanted to add. _For a long, long time._

"Well, you are talking to one right now, right? It's not bad so far, is it?"

"Oh, no, no, it isn't bad, I just, er..."

Michelle stared at the little boy, waiting for him to say whatever he had on his mind. A minute passed in silence, and Michelle beamed and patted the space in front of her. "Come on, sit down, but not on the chairs because Mama and Papa are sitting there. My name's Michelle!"

"I've heard," Peter said as he floated up and landed gently on the bed with his legs crossed. "Uh, my name's Peter- what?"

Michelle sat there with her mouth gaping open at him, her golden eyes bulging. "Whoa, did you just-?!"

"Did I just what?" Peter asked. He then made a soft "oh" sound. "You mean float? Yeah, I did. Why, did it scare you?"

"No! That is so cool! How did you that?"

"Well," Peter looked down at his fingers again, noticing how dirty his nails looked and wishing that his Papa was here to help him clean them out. "Well, I don't know. One day, I was just able to float and I did it sometimes. It's not as cool as what you're doing, though. My Papa did that all of the time and made me and my brother and even my dog hats and scarves for winter every year so we don't get cold. They were really soft and warm."

"Wow. Are they here with you, Peter?"

Peter shook his head. "No, they're not. They never came back." His voice became softer, and he swallowed so that the lump forming in his throat would go away. He didn't want to cry, not in front of such a pretty girl-

He then froze, sadness immediately replaced with embarrassment. He didn't think that, did he?

"I'm sorry, Peter. Hey, what are you here for?"

"I had something wrong with my heart, Mum said. He said it was-"

"_He?_"

Peter nodded, now remembering that not many people call their second father "Mum" and that that was a sort of special thing for him and his older brother. "Yeah, I call my other father 'Mum' because he's really mom-like even when he's manly."

"Oooh, okay. Do you call your mama 'Daddy' then-?"

"Michelle, who are you talking to?" Michelle's father asked. He and his wife looked around, concerned.

Michelle gestured her hand towards the empty space in front of her. "Mama, Papa, this is Peter!" She looked back at the space in front of her and carried on with the conversation.

"Eh, Michelle, there's no one-" Her mother gently grabbed her husband's sleeve and shook her head. "What?"

"Francis, can't you see she made a new friend here?"

"Not really, no."

"Francis-"

"Makena, this is not a healthy thing for her." Francis glanced at his daughter and leaned closer to her mother's ear and continued in a hushed voice, "She's obviously been here foo too long and is very lonely, we need to break this habit before it gets to her the longer she stays here."

"I can hear you, yanno," Michelle grumbled. She reached forward and placed her hand on the sheet, her palm cupped as if covering something. "And so can Peter!"

Peter looked down at his hand, which was covered by Michelle's hand. He didn't really feel the touch, but he could tell that her hand was soft and warm. His mouth hung open as his mind tried to sort through the weird feelings bubbling inside him.

By the window, a potted plant tilted over the edge and crashed to the floor.

"Oh, mon Dieu, how the hel- heck did that happen?" Francis hurried around the bed and went to the mess. He crouched and tried to pick up as many pieces of the pot as he can.

Makena grabbed some facial tissue and a pamphlet to use as a makeshift broom and dustpan to clean up the soil.

As her parents cleaned, Michelle turned her attention back to Peter. She scooted closer to him and smiled. "How old are you Peter? I'm five!"

"You're five? Hm, what year is it?"

"It's, um, it's 2025!"

"Oh, then that would mean..." Peter trailed off as he counted on his fingers. "2022, 2021... I should really be sixteen, then!" He sighed and crossed his arms. "But I'm still five and short."

"Being five isn't so bad!" Michelle chirped. She tilted her head and gave that smile that was really starting to make Peter nervous in a good way and squeezed her hand around Peter's, surprising the young boy. "That means we can be friends!"

"Oh, no..." Francis muttered as he and Makena crossed the room to the trashcan.

Peter ignored them and instead returned the warm grin.

Makena Bonnefoy: APH Kenya


	2. Chapter 2

Today was was a sunny morning. Michelle could tell that the sun was shining brightly in the sky the moment she awoke from her sleep by the way the edges of the window's blinds glowed, so as soon as the last of her dream cleared from her mind, she reached for the call button on the bed's rail and tapped the red button.

"Yes, hun?" The kind voice spoke through the speaker on the wall.

Michelle held the button on her handheld tool and lifted it close to her mouth. She replied into the speaker, "I'm awake. Can you please come here for a second?"

The nurse chuckled softly, making Michelle wonder what was so funny, and said, "Okay, dear, I'll be there in a moment."

"Okay." Michelle balanced the call button on the bed rail again and sat there. She rubbed her eye with the back of her little fist and yawned loudly. Soon, a knock came from the door and, fluffing her messy loose coils of hair, Michelle called out, "Come in!"

The door pushed open, and Nurse Katyusha, in her pink floral uniform that Michelle loves so much because it reminded her of Mama and Papa's garden that they used to let her play in, came into the room with a grin on her face and a stethoscope hanging from her neck. She tilted her head and smiled. "Good morning, Miss Bonnefoy! How are you?"

"Good morning, Nurse Katyusha!" Michelle said back. "I'm fine, I had my good night's sleep like my doctor told me to get!"  
>"Well, that's good!" the nurse clapped her hands together and straightened the band in her hair. "Keep following your doctor's orders and you'll be better in no time!"<br>"Yep!"  
>"So, what can I do for you, little missy?"<br>Michelle pointed at the window. "Ma'am, could you please open the blinds? The sun is up and I want to get some sun into the room. It's kinda dark in here."

Nurse Katyusha nodded. "Of course, Miss Bonnefoy." She walked around the bed to the window and pulled on the cord until the base of the blinds lifted high on the window. She pulled the cord to the side until she was sure it locked in place and, therefore, the base won't fall down.

More of the sunlight poured into the room and found its way onto Michelle's bed. Like a flower whose petals started to open to soak in the morning's light, Michelle stretched out her arms and let the glow's warmth heat her arms and open palms.

"That should do it- wait." The nurse turned towards Michelle and pointed at the windowsill. Her eyebrow rose as she asked, "Didn't there used to be a plant here yesterday?"

Michelle nodded. "Yep! But Peter broke it with his magic and my Mama and Papa had to throw it away. Oh! Is Peter up, too?"

Nurse Katyusha stared at the little girl on the bed, then at the wall behind the bed as her fingers went up to play with the strands of hair that escaped from her ponytail's scrunchie. "Peter? Peter, who, dear?"

"Peter-" Michelle stopped to think. She hummed as she tried to pull up the last name in her mind. "Um... I don't know his last name. But he had on a gown like me!" She tugged at the front of her hospital gown. "And he said he was sick, too, with a heart thing like me, so I know he has to be here!"

"Sweetie, I don't think there is a patient here named Peter."

"But I met him yesterday!"

"Okay, then so he must be a new intake," Nurse Katyusha said mostly to herself, thinking about how bad it would look if there was a new patient in the children's ward that she, as the charge nurse, doesn't know about.

Michelle shook her head, not knowing the word "intake" but understanding it well enough to know that it must mean a kid who was sick like her. "Nope, he isn't new. He said his Mama and Papa stopped coming to visit him, so I think he's been here a long time. But he doesn't look it because he looks five like me but is actually sixteen years old."

Nurse Katyusha blinked as she continued to stare at the girl, trying to work through the sudden barrage of information in her head. Her hair-playing hand paused in twirling a lock of hair. "Oh," she said, letting down her hand. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, hun, but there is no Peter in this hospital."

"But there is! I was talking to him yesterday and my Mama was, too, and Peter told me about your pretty rose pin you had on your sweater yesterday, so he was here!"

"Michelle-" the nurse sighed. "Michelle, are you sure this wasn't a dream you just woke up from?"

"Mhm!" Michelle shook her head and pushed back the bush of hair that got in her face. "I'm sure, I'm sure!"

"Then I may be mistaken." The gentle smile came back to Nurse Katyusha's face. "Don't worry, Michelle, if Peter is here, I may be able to find him later. But in the meantime-" she bent down with her hands on her knees and looked Michelle in her eyes, "-how about I get you some breakfast, okay? What would you like to have?"

Michelle pouted, feeling the urge to defend Peter's existence yet again, but looked down at her covered knees instead of speaking up again. "Just orange juice, please," she murmured.

"Aw, Michelle, don't feel so down! I'm sure Peter will be around here to visit you, wherever he may be! Hey, how about I sneak you a cup of strawberry yogurt with your juice, hm?"

The young girl's face brightened. "Yeah! Please!"

"Alright, then! I'll be right back!" Nurse Katyusha walked out of the room. She placed the door stopper down onto the floor with her foot so that the door would stay open in her absence. Her cheerful humming could be heard even as she went farther away from the room, and Michelle picked up the tune in her own humming.

Ten minutes into the wait, Michelle leaned down the side of her bed and picked up the wicket basket of yarn and needles. She lifted it over the rail with a grunt and plopped it down in front of her. Picking through the balls of yarn and tools, Michelle searched through the stuff until she pulled out the unfinished scarf she and her mother started the day before. She wrapped and looped a new strand of yarn onto one of her plastic blue needles until she created a "chain" (she tilted her head in puzzlement; she still doesn't know why her mother and father call it a chain when it doesn't even look like a chain) and loomed it into the scarf as a new color layer. Still humming the tune Nurse Hedervay left her with, Michelle clicked her needles together and pushed one end of the yarn into the hole of another in a consistent pattern.

She then stopped, her hands lowering into her lap. She gazed out the window, where she can see all the life of the hospital out there. Healthier children were running around playing with either their family or the friends they made here; children who were too sick to do anything but were allowed recess out of their rooms sat in some benches with their visitors; some special nurses who help children walk again were helping kids with metal legs practice moving in them. Michelle quickly glanced at the clock and back out the window. Whether or not she knew how to read clocks properly, she still knew it was going to be a long time before her parents got off work and come to see her today. And her friend...

"Peter, are you here?" She whispered to herself.

"You rang?"

Michelle whipped her head towards the door. "Peter!" She gasped at the blond head leaning in through the doorway.

Peter floated from the doorway and to Michelle's hospital bed. He flew his body over the rail and landed in a sitting position in the same place where she offered him yesterday. "Hi!"

"Ah, Peter, I thought you left!" Michelle pouted.

"Really? Why?"

"Because," Michelle huffed and placed her needles into her lap to cross her arms. "Because Nurse Katyusha said that there wasn't a boy named Peter in the hospital and she probably thought I made you up like Papa did, but now that you're here, I guess that means that she's wrong, too, so it doesn't matter." She took up her knitting supplies again and lifted the little scarf. "Hey, I worked on my scarf some more!"

"Wow!" Peter touched his fingers to the garment, only to withdraw his hand when his fingertips pushed through the fabric. "It's getting longer! Have you been working on this all night?"

"Sorta." Michelle shrugged. "I couldn't sleep, so one of the nurses let me play with my knitting stuff until I could fall asleep."

"But didn't you tell Nurse Katyusha that you had a lot of sleep last night? I thought you fell asleep when I left?"

Michelle shrugged again, and worked on her scarf. "I lied; I didn't want Nurse Kat to get upset and call Doctor Braginsky. He'll just come talk to me about resting and how much I need it in order to grow and get better."

"Ooooh," Peter nodded.

"Yeah. He kinda scares me a little when he gets serious, but he doesn't scare me a lot; he's really nice, so I do try to sleep like he tells me to."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Peter crossed his legs and held on to one of the calves as he leaned back in boredom. He looked up at the plaster ceiling. "Doctor Braginsky does seem like a scary guy sometimes when he gets really serious, but I think it's because he's so big, like my Papa. But I like the jokes and stories he tells the other children." Peter giggled. "He's really funny!"

"Mhm!" Michelle giggled too. "Did you hear about the joke where the magician lost his bunny and found him in his Mommy's soup?"

Peter nodded and threw back his head as he laughed out loud. Michelle joined along with him, retelling some of her favorite jokes from Doctor Braginsky and an old story from his childhood in Russia.

"Did you hear- about the- the man from Moscow who was late for work?" Michelle said in-between her fits of giggles.

Peter tried to reply, but was spasming so much from laughter that all he could do was shake his head, even though he heard the joke before.

"The man from Moscow was walking down the street a-and another guy tried to talk to him. So the man from Moscow put up his hand and said, 'not now, my good sir, I'm Russian to work, here!'"

"Bwah hahahahahahaha!" Peter rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around his guts. Although his stomach really didn't feel like bursting from laughter, holding his stomach in was a reflex he always did when he was laughing too hard for his own good, and it was one he picked up again when Doctor Braginsky started working here six years ago.

"And there was one where- oh!"

"Michelle?" Peter twisted around in the air until he was on his hand and knees. He reached towards the girl as she clutched her fingers into her left chest, her wide eyes boring into a spot on the bed. "Michelle-!"

"I-I'm fine," Michelle whimpered. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Her face remained twisted like that for a few seconds, until whatever was going on in her chest stopped aching so harshly, leaving her tired-looking. "M-maybe we should stop... for now."

Peter furrowed his eyebrows in worry, but moved back to give her some breathing room. He nodded and pulled his knees up to his face, looking away at the floor. "Okay, yeah." The room became quiet, and Peter asked, "So, what are you going to do for today?"

"Nothing really." She moved her knitting supplies aside and mimicked Peter's move, but focused on his blue eyes. "I'm gonna wait for Mama and Papa to come visit after work, and then knit some more so I can finish this scarf by Christmas time. Until then, I'm going to take a bath and take my medicine. What about you?"

Peter shook his head. His eyes looked up to Michelle, and realizing that she was watching him, squeezed himself tighter behind his knees. "I don't have anything to do. I can't talk to the nurses or other kids, and I can't really pick up toys to play with, so I guess I'll just be floating around here and stuff..."

"Hey, about the nurses, how come they don't listen to you? They don't do that with the other kids here, not me, either. Did you do something bad?"

Peter shook his head again, but he did wonder if he did something terrible to get so many cold shoulders over the years. "I don't know. I don't think I did..."

"I don't think you did anything wrong, either. There's gotta be something else, then, because the nurses here are nice!" Michelle hummed in thought, but grew silent when she couldn't think of anything. "...You know, maybe-"

"Aaah, Michelle!" Nurse Katyusha rushed into the room with a carton of orange juice in her pocket, a cup of yogurt with a spoon in one hand, and the other hand holding a packet of pills. "I'm so sorry, dear, I had to wait for the vendors to restock the food and then had to get your medicine for the hour. But here it is! Oh, and I'm sorry sweetheart, but I couldn't find anyone named Peter in the hospital."

"It's okay, Nurse Kat! Peter's right here!" Michelle gestured to the empty space, where the mentioned young boy waved shyly at the nurse.

Nurse Katyusha grinned and glanced back and forth between the little girl and the empty space on the bed. "Oh, I see! Hello, Peter! My name is Nurse Katyusha!" She handed Michelle her yogurt and spoon and held out her hand, feeling only a gentle cool breeze pass between her fingers. "My, Peter, you are such a handsome young man, isn't he, Michelle?"

"Mhm! Very!" Michelle's yogurt-covered lips smiled widely. She then tilted the yogurt cup back over her mouth and slurped the content into her mouth. Peter blushed at the compliment and giggled at the slurping noise.

Nurse Katyusha closed her eyes and took a napkin out of her pocket as the young girl giggled. "Michelle, please use your spoon."


	3. Chapter 3

A week has passed since that fortunate day that Peter came across his old room's newest occupant and her family, and ever since then, the hospital has been a little more fun, as fun as a place full of sick people that can't even leave their beds to play can be.

He hovered by the door, hands wringing excitedly as he waited for Michelle's doctor to finish his routine check up and leave the room.

"Okay, Michelle, have you been eating well like I told you?" Peter could hear the doctor ask from his spot next to the door. "And cough please."

"Yes, Doctor Braginsky," Michelle replied. She then gave a little cough.

"Are you sure about that, little miss Bonnefoy? I have seen your mommy and daddy bringing up some unhealthy food to your room. Now, I myself know how good the sugary stuff is and you are allowed to have some, but only in _moderation_. You have a special diet to stick to to make your heart healthy again, remember?"

"Bluh ah buhn eedun hulthee, duu!" Michelle said; it sounded like she had something in her mouth. Peter figured it must be those ice lollies stick things the doctors always stuck in the kids' mouths.

"I'm sorry, say that again?"

"I said that I've been eating healthy, too!" Michelle said earnestly. "I eat my veggies and grain and fruits and fish. You can even ask Mama and Papa and Peter if you want!"

Peter perked his ears at the mention of his name, hearing the heavy scratch of a pen against paper. "Peter? Who is that, your brother? I've never met him before."

"Nuh-uh, Peter isn't my brother! He's my friend! I met him last week; he stays here in the hospital. You haven't seen him, either?"

"Uh, no, I'm afraid that I haven't. He sounds like such a nice boy, though."

"He is, he is! He says nice stuff, he's funny and smart, and Mama thinks he's a sweet boy, too! Oh! He loves your stories and jokes like I do! He thinks you're real funny!"

"Oh, ha ha, really now?" Dr. Braginsky bubbly laughter echoed loudly into the hall. "Well, that's an interesting thing to learn. Too bad I didn't get to meet him, I'd love to tell him some of my jokes myself. Okay, now the other ear."

"That thing's cold!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Bonnefoy."

"'Sokay. Anyway, he comes to this room every day so I don't get lonely and we talk all the time. Nurse Kat actually met him days ago. She found him nice, too!"

"Mhm. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, I did hear of Peter from my big sister. A nice child, he is." There was a squeak of a stool as Dr. Braginsky stood and more pen scratching as he took his notes. "Well, Miss Bonnefoy, looks like we are finished with your check up for now. Later on, Nurse Kat and Nurse Nat will come in to prepare you for your X-ray and then a bath. Have your sponge and your favorite soap ready!"

"Okay, Dr. Braginsky!"

As soon as he heard that the check-up was over, Peter hurried through the door and stood in the middle of the room until Dr. Braginsky pulled the curtain around the bed and stepped out. Michelle sat in her usual spot, legs visibly crossed even under her blanket and her wide eyes watching Dr. Braginsky leave. She then gasped and waved her hands even though he wouldn't see. "Dr. Braginsky, wait!"

"What, what, what?" The doctor stopped and spun around.

"There he is!" Michelle pointed. "Hey, Peter!"

Dr. Braginsky raised his eyebrows as he stared at the vacant place that Michelle pointed at. His lips stretched into a grin moments later. "Cute lad!" He said before leaving the room.

How soon is too soon to declare a person as a best friend? Is it better to wait a certain amount of time, a year or longer, or is sharing almost everything to them about oneself good enough to officially see the other as the most trusted companion ever?

That was what Peter wondered in a back part of his mind as he shared yet another tidbit of his life to this wonderful girl, his hands waving this way and that in the air and Michelle gaping with fascination. She was good at that; with her attentive listening, Michelle was honestly good at making it seem like whatever Peter had to talk about wasn't as dull as he once thought it was. With no one paying attention to him for years and years, Peter was starting to wonder if he was losing his ability to make friends before Michelle came along.

And nowadays, with the way she was trying to draw the attention of the staff here to him as if she knew Peter so much besides what he tells her, can read into how long Peter's loneliness has went on, the boy just couldn't help but smile more and more, and with all the attention and friends Michelle was trying to get him, he can honestly say that he prefer her attention the most.

That's the feeling one gets when they realize they found a best friend, right? He couldn't tell, but he likes it.

He looked down at the growing scarf on the bed, a blush rising in his cheeks as he said, "Michelle?"

Michelle looked up from her crochet tools and work. "Hm?"

"Ah..." The question the young boy wanted to ask seemed much easier to bring up when he was working on it in his head, and it was such a simple question, too, wasn't it? Maybe it wasn't the question that was hard but how to handle the answer, because he can control his own curiosity, he doesn't have to know and can just continue on with this great thing between them, but he can't control whatever answer Michelle would give.

Yet she was waiting for him, her big, golden eyes watching him.

"Michelle, we're friends, right?" No, of course they were friends, that's not what he meant. "_Best_ friends, or, er-?"

"Yep!" And she was back to working on her scarf, thinking her answer was so simple that she didn't need to contemplate it more. When she bent her head to closely examine her crochet work, she missed the way the entire world brightened for Peter. When she looked back up, she mistaken the relieved, overjoyed smile for a humorous one. "What?"

"N-nothing." Peter fiddled his fingers, the smile starting to fade bit by bit. "Uh, but I was just wondering, though..."

"Yes?"

"I was just wondering... Do you feel like we're best friends _too _soon?"

Just as simple as her first answer, Michelle's second was a shake of her head. "Nope." She brought her scarf up to squint at her work so far, huffing as she started to unravel her last three rows and reworked the yarn.

He was pushing it, Peter knew this, because she gave him the answers to his questions and now he knows and can stop thinking about this, but instead of welcoming the relief he first felt, his curiosity just got worse, bordering on some worry that he couldn't place a reason on. "A-are you sure?"

As if her "woman's intuition" was blooming early in her life, Michelle placed the scarf and tools down and crossed her arms. "Peter, what's this all about?"

"Nothin' big, I just... I was thinking about how we only knew each other for two weeks. And, well... you say we're best friends, and I think so too, but what made us best friends?"

"Well..." With her hands folded together in front of her face, Michelle hummed as she thought her answer through this time, lifting the weight of concern from Peter's shoulders little by little. "Okay, we're best friends because we hang out every day. You come to my room every day, we talk a lot to each other, and we like the same stuff! And my parents really like you too, and that's great!"

"But your Mommy and Daddy can't see me, Michelle. An' there are some things we don't like-"

"_And that's okay! _You don't need to like e_verything _to like each other! Mama doesn't like some of Papa's silly shows, and Papa hates Mama's book club and some of her friends, but they were married for, like, forever." She leaned forward and patted Peter's hand; it should've went through, Peter thought, but it fit perfectly on top of his. "It's okay if you don't like my dolls' drama from home, and it's okay if I don't like how cold your body can be sometimes. It doesn't mean we can't be friends."

Satisfied with her own answer, Michelle took up her crochet tools and went back to working on her scarf. In the silence that filled the room, Peter took a breath through his nostrils and let the other loom her yarn undisturbed for a few passing minutes. Then... "Are you sure?"

"Peter, _please, _I need to concentrate on this! And yes, I am _positive._"

The boy nodded, and finally he let the matter drop. She thought it through; she was so certain of their friendship that even the concerns Peter felt didn't faze her. The nauseating fear of loneliness started to alleviate, leaving Peter to finally feel the relief he was holding back behind the "what-ifs". With everything settled, Peter touched the end of the scarf Michelle already finished and asked, "So, how long are you going to make this scarf?"

"You know, your hair is really pretty," Peter said.

It has been three weeks since Peter first met Michelle, and since then, such observations that used to be hard to state out loud because they tied up his tongue now came more easily, although he had to admit that he still gets a slight flutter in his stomach just thinking about the other stuff he wanted to say to her but keep to himself. Things like how he can see the rosiness in her cheeks and how they make her face seem warmer, or how he likes the little snort in her laughter when she laughs too hard, even when her mother taught her that silly way of hiding it with a cough (and he still didn't understand why Michelle needed to hide it, it was funny and made him laugh harder, too, but in a good way; "a contagious laugh" his papa would call it).

But he figured that in order to defeat the stomach butterflies, he was going to have to share some of the stuff he was thinking, especially since Michelle was so open about her thoughts, so he picked the easier ones to say.

Michelle looked up from her half-finished scarf, then looked away with a blush as her hand went up to her soft, kinky hair. "Aww, thank you."

"And I like your ribbons, too!"

"Awww." Michelle fluttered her eyelashes and giggled.

"I see you fluttering your lashes, young lady," Francis said as he and Makena walked into the room with cups of sundaes in their hands. He stuck out of finger and wagged it. "Who on earth are you flirting with, Michelle?"

Michelle stuck out her tongue. "Oh, Daddy, I'm not flirting with anyone! I won't do that until I'm fifty, like you said." She then stuck up her nose playfully and grinned, playing with her hair. "Peter was just telling me how much he likes my hair!"

"And ribbons!" Peter pointed out.

"And my ribbons!" Michelle pinched her large red ribbons and tugged at them.

Makena placed her cup of ice cream on the bedside table and bent near Michelle to give her a small yet loud smooch. "Well, of course he likes your hair, you have that fantastic Machman hair gene in you!"

"Aaah, excuse me, but what about the Bonnefoy gene, hm?" Francis shook his head to give his hair a little flip. "My side of the family has had fabulous hair for generations! Not one gray strand hits us until we hit 80!"

"Yes, love, we know all about your family's fabulous hair," Makena said with a roll of her eyes. Michelle and Peter giggled.

"Hehe, your papa reminds me of a diva!" Peter said.

Michelle nodded and laughed. "Ha ha, he does, doesn't he?"

Francis smiled as he watched his daughter and the space in front of her. "Heh, I do what?"

"Peter said you remind him of a diva!"

Francis's smile thinned out. Looking this way and that, he nodded slowly and said, "Oh, I see." He sniffed and held out a cup of ice cream. "Well, Michelle, here's your ice cream. Too bad there aren't any ice cream for little invisible boys."

"Papa!" Michelle gasped and placed her hands over Peter's ears. "How could you say such a thing! You know how sensitive Peter is about not being able to eat desserts!"

"Yes, Francis, really?" Makena crossed her arms and fixed a look at her husband.

Peter placed his hands on Michelle's and took them off his ears. "It's okay, Michelle, I'm not 'ffended. Besides, I still remember what ice cream tastes like." He beamed and patted her hands.

Michelle frowned. "Are you sure?" She asked with uncertainty.

"Uh-huh!"

"Okay..." Michelle took the sundae from her father's hand- with a glower to let him know that no amount of ice cream can make his statement forgivable- and popped open the top. She stuck the plastic spoon into the ice cream and scooped some into her mouth. "Mmmm..."

Another thing that Peter can add to his list of things he liked about Michelle: the goofy way she stuffs her cheeks with food and smiles after.

One thing that Peter has noticed lately was that Michelle was not like her normal self.

He didn't notice when she started changing, but nowadays, he can see that she was actually getting worse. Whenever he came by in the mornings, Michelle was either doing her routine check up late or still lying in her bed. Lately, he would come into the room to find her curled up and shivering, despite having a really thick blanket wrapped around her, with her eyes closed really tightly, as if in her dream she was trying not to cry. When he finally had her all to himself, she wasn't...happy.

She only pretended to be happy, still trying to smile when Peter shared a funny thing he remembered happening years ago, giving a laugh that didn't sound real and honestly sounded a little sickly, a little too quiet for the girl that giggles so loudly, Peter could still hear it long after Michelle was asleep. Even the doctors noticed her strange behavior; even though Dr. Braginsky told her and her nurses that Michelle needed to eat more healthy food, Nurse Kat and Nurse Nat still sneak cups of ice cream to her to cheer her up, and even Dr. Braginsky breaks his own rule and brings her a bowl once every few check-ups.

But when Peter returns to her room before the nurse aids collect her stuff, he finds her treats half-eaten or untouched altogether.

He's terrified, but he's trying not to be. She'll get better. He can only hope she gets better.

He fiddled with a string of yarn that was still trailing from her unfinished scarf, carefully playing with it so that it wouldn't get undone or messed up. "-So then, when Dr. Jones said that Dr. Braginsky wouldn't beat him in a race, Dr. Braginsky said he could, so they got on stools and told everyone to get off the floor and they just got the janitors' broom and started rowing like they were rowing boats! And then..."

Peter looked up from the scarf, his fingers moving away from the yarn. Michelle was staring out the open door, her shoulders slouching and her chin resting in her hands as if at any moment, she was going to cover up her face to cry. It wouldn't be the first time she did so, when she thought Peter left and she had the room to herself, and by the growing redness in her eyes, she must be getting ready to do it again. Peter wondered briefly if it was something he did or said, then leaned to look out the door, too, to see what she was watching so intently.

It was Feliciano, sitting in his bed with a sketchbook on his lap as he scribbled on it with a black, fragile-looking chalk, his head going up and down as he looked back from the sketchbook to the man- his father Roderich, Peter learned some time ago- who was sitting on the edge of the bed, sitting still to pose for Feliciano's artwork. A few moments later, his mother- a lady named Eliza- came into the room with bowls of colorful fruit salads. She said something and the boy laughed, not the coughing laugh that sounded like he was gurgling, but the full, bubbly loud laugh that Peter wish he could hear coming from Michelle again. Peter heard from the nurses and doctors that Feliciano was going to be released soon because he was recovering very well, and the staff allowed his mother and father and brother to visit as often as they like.

Peter glanced at Michelle out of the corner of his eyes. Was that why she was so sad all the time? Because she had to stay a little longer than the others? He guessed he could understand that; he kind of hates having to stay here all the time, too, but ever since he met Michelle, it wasn't so dull and tiring for him, anymore.

Was his company not enough for her, then?

He hung his head and resumed playing with the yarn. "Uhm, Michelle...?"

"Hm?" Michelle took her sad eyes away from the Feliciano boy's room and smiled that smile that hurts to see. "I'm sorry Peter, I was just looking-"

"I know. Are you okay?"

At the question, Michelle went silent. The pain on her face was there for a fraction of a second, but Peter caught it. She smiled again. "Yeah, I'm fine! Dr. Braginsky says I'm fine, so I'm fine! Why?"

Peter shook his head. "I mean are you feeling... happy? You seem so sad-"

"No, Peter, I'm not-"

A knock came from the door. Neither of the children noticed that Dr. Bragisnky appeared at the door. "Miss Bonnefoy, I'm sorry if I'm interupting you and Peter again."

Michelle glanced at Peter and shook her head. "It's okay, Dr. Braginsky. Is it time for my check up today?"

Dr. Braginsky shook his head. "No Michelle, I just wanted to ask you something..." Dr. Braginsky grew silent, obviously pondering his question through as he sighed. Peter leaned forward, now wondering what the question was himself. It wasn't right for him to listen in on this, but since Michelle hadn't kicked him out and Dr. Braginsky was pretending to not see him again, he didn't bother to float away.

"Michelle, have you ever heard from your parents recently?"

There was that pain again, that brief twisting of the face and quivering of the lips as Michelle tried to answer. "No... No, I haven't." Michelle turned and lied on her side, pulling the blanket up to her shoulder.

Dr. Braginsky sighed again, regretting asking her the question. "I'm sorry Michelle. But you shouldn't worry, dear! I'm sure they try whatever they could to-"

"Dr. Braginsky, I'm feeling tired. Can I take a nap?"

Dr. Braginsky paused, his mouth hanging open with his unfinished attempt at assurance. He nodded and left, closing the door softly behind him. Peter looked from the room's door to the shaking body underneath the blanket. Scooting closer to place a hand uselessly on Michelle's shoulder, Peter wondered something.

Where were Michelle's parents?

* * *

><p>That awkward moment when you update your fic on AO3, but forget to update it on FF until months later. :


	4. Chapter 4

Her parents didn't come today, either.

It was an observation Peter made as he floated in front of the B180 door, and the fact that it was closed was the first sign. When he hesitantly poked his head through it, the near emptiness of the room was the second sign.

As cold as it sounded, their absence for today was not a surprise to him; after the first couple months that he's been enjoying Michelle's company, indulging in the warm closeness of her, her Mama, and her Papa- something he missed so terribly from his own family- their visits grew less and less. At first, Peter didn't pick up on the less frequent visits- being so indulged in Michelle's funny stories and her chiming giggles- but it didn't take long for him to notice the lack of Francis's heavily accented laugh he would usually hear down the hall, or the missing scent of rose perfume that clung to Makena's colorful garments. The more days they missed, the less surprised Peter was when he would hear the nurses and doctors- ones that were close to the Bonnefoy daughter- whisper amongst each other things like "Wow, they're not here today, too?" or "That poor girl must be so lonely".

Yet, as he leaned forward to faze his head through the door, the lack of shock did nothing to stop his heart from twisting as his eyes went straight to the solitary bed in the dim, quiet room to watch the small figure lying still under the duvet. He pursed his lips as he silently willed her to move, to show any sign of life to let him know that she was okay, but another part of him, a tiny, lonely voice that he didn't even know existed in his head, hoping that maybe, just maybe, Michelle wasn't-

He squeezed his eyes and shook his head. No. _No__!_ Why would he even _hope_ for such a thing?

Panic surged through his weak, light body and, almost as if he wanted to prove to himself that that horrible wish wasn't what he truly wanted, and that he wasn't a bad boy, he leaned further through the door and whispered with a hoarse, urgent voice, "Michelle! Michelle, _wake up!_"

A soft gasp and a little bit of stirring under the blanket later, Peter sighed in relief as Michelle finally pulled her head out from under the blanket and even- what an improvement!- sat up from her nestling cocoon. But the relief didn't last much longer when Peter watched Michelle fold her hands in her lap and stare down at her woven fingers.

"Hey, Peter..."

Peter's heart sunk even lower at the two simple words that, earlier on in their friendship, would have made it flutter and fill with glee at the bright day that was ahead of them. With no cheer in her sweet voice, she sounded so empty, so torn apart.

"Hey," Peter replied softly, still hovering in the door. He looked down at the tiled floor, wondering if he should leave for a moment, but decided against it and looked back up. "Can I come in?"

Although the boy knew the brightening mood was fake, Michelle still lifted her head and smiled. "Of course! Yeah!"

Peter nodded and drifted his body fully into the room. He stood by the bed until Michelle scooted up far enough to give him some space and then flew into the air, billowing down into a crossed-leg position like an airborne feather fluttering to the ground. A few moments after, they let the silence return, with Peter fiddling his little thumbs and staring at his hospital pants leg, sparing a glance up at Michelle's exhausted-looking face to spark a topic to converse with. Finding no inspiration there, he swept his eyes around the room once more. A thin line of winter sunlight poking through the window panel, the fake houseplant in the corner with its leaves losing their green color, the neatly stacked cups of ice cream and fruits on the serving tray waiting for the nurse to come and collect, some of them half-eaten while the other two or three weren't even opened.

The boy pursed his lips once more and furrowed his eyebrow as he silently scolded himself for not finding anything to talk about. Was there nothing he could say to distract Michelle-

"They didn't come today."

Peter stiffened and looked at Michelle, swallowing the bit of spit that collected in his throat. "...I..." His gaze flickered to the bedside table and the miniature boxes wrapped in some festive Christmas paper. "Oh! You got gifts! That's cool!"

Michelle looked over her shoulder at the table and nodded at the abundance. "Mhm! Yeah, Nurse Kat and Nurse Nat said Mama and Papa mailed them in and they came yesterday. But I don't wanna open them yet. I wanna wait until Christmas with..." her voice trailed off then. Peter could've sworn he heard a stifled sob, and whether he did or not, he couldn't hold it against her.

Although it's been quite a few years since his daddies came to him with gifts, he could still remember the holiday joy that filled the room and brought smiles to their faces; even more, he could remember that no matter what toy he used to receive back then, it never topped playing them with his boisterous uncle, or sipping hot cocoa as he sat in his Mum's lap, or hanging up paper angels in the hospital window while Papa held him up on his shoulders.

Neither Peter nor Michelle would wish for the other patients to be in their predicament, but it still stung to watch parents come and brighten up the rooms with ornaments and policy-approved electric candles, and sit with their children as they opened up boxes of candy and cookies that brought a smile to their face. They didn't feel a twinge of envy, but there was a terrible pain of longing when they could hear the faint sounds of mommies and daddies singing carols through the thin walls.

Breathing through his nose, Peter started to push away that longing that started to bubble up again, which was quite easy since he had years to practice numbing it. As for Michelle…

"They said they're gonna- they're gonna make it this Christmas," she said. Even at the way she angled her head to keep her eyes away from Peter, he could still see them glisten. She let out one soft sniff and looked up at the door, not really seeing it. "I mean, _they are_! I think they are, and even if not…" Her eyes, wide and red, finally met Peter's. "They have lotsa stuff to do in their shops, y'know? And I won't be alone! Because…"

Peter leaned in close to catch the last bit of words that died off. At least, he thought he heard Michelle saying something else. Didn't he? "Uhm, what?"

"Because you'll be here." Her voice, still sounding empty, still trying to feign optimism, started to become strained. "Right?" Before Peter could answer her, all the months worth the tears finally started to pour as she lowered her face into her hands.

This was another thing that didn't take Peter by surprise, especially with as much as he could truly empathize with the girl's weeping. Instead of answering her right away, he waited quietly as she lied back down on her side and curled up. Her tears started to flow through him as well, and he couldn't help but lie right next to her and place his weightless arm uselessly over her shoulder. Her sobs breezed through his intangible face, but he could still feel them as if his cheeks were still solid, or maybe it was just her anguish and loneliness he could feel erasing the numbness he worked so hard to build up inside him.

Across the room, a loose thread in the window's curtain started to tug down, slowly unfurling the work of the curtain row by row, stitch by stitch. In the corner, one leaf followed by the other started to fall from the plastic stems as if the plant was organic and dying. Above them, the light fixtures started forming little cracks on their glass surface. But the children didn't notice.

Face to face they lied on the bed, wallowing in the hurt and insecurities they never thought they would have to suffer through.

When will Mama and Papa come back? They were doing so well spending more time together, what happened? Why do they have to work so much all the time?

And of course Peter would be there for Michelle during Christmas, he likes her so much to not see her on the best day of the year. The many years of being ignored and neglected seemed to go away in those few short months ever since he met Michelle. He could only hope that he was really enough to fill the void her parents left, because she was enough for him.


End file.
